


Is This A MemeLord or MemeLady?

by Jyou_no_Sonoko



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Gen, Professor Missy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:01:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23926585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jyou_no_Sonoko/pseuds/Jyou_no_Sonoko
Summary: Tiny gag fic written for a friend, after we joked about how multi-level memes are right up Missy's lateral-thinking alley and she would totally teach a course in them. The case study should be familiar to everyone.(what I really want to see is her teaching that tumblr post where various interconnected memes are laid out like loss.jpeg)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	Is This A MemeLord or MemeLady?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AlexusOnFire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexusOnFire/gifts).



The professor pointed her remote at the unnecessarily old slide-projector, sending the patchwork image to the screen. Not matter how closely they were seated in the auditorium, students found themselves squinting at the image, the artefacts upon which seemed to shift when not regarded directly. 

“This,” she said precisely, with a flourish of her entire arm, “is a Tier Two Meme. Early twenty-first century. Now to anyone who took my colleague's Introduction to Meme Culture course last semester: my condolences. Human minds can only stretch so far, and I expect yours will be melting through your ears by Tuesday. So, let's all look forward to that!” 

The students shuffled uncomfortably: their professor's wardrobe was eccentric and that wasn't out of the ordinary in a university staff member, but her reputation continued to frequently give them pause. It was rumoured that her previous tenure had been in a vault for the criminally insane. For some this added to her mystique, of course, but even those with a thirst for brushes with death found their nape hair standing on edge in her presence. 

With an umbrella which she had absolutely not been holding before, she struck the screen, across the crudely-superimposed face of a ginger cat: 

“Now, as you can see, _this_ does nay go with _that_ ,” she moved to strike the simple cartoon of a man's body, which was part of an animation still. “And _that_ ,” the umbrella pointed at a butterfly in the top right of the image, “is what we in academic circles term a _papillon de sujet_ , or in your vulgar parlance, _a butterfly of whatever the hell you're on about_.” 

Her accent was shifting faster than her gestures, and the students frantically scrawled notes, checking spellings on their personal devices. A few raised querying hands at her translation, but she waved them away with pantomime irritation. 

“Yes, yes, I may be taking translation liberties, it's my right as an aesthete. Now. Focus on the text. What, pray tell, is writ large upon the _papillon's_ corpus?” Hands went up again and she ignored them. “Yes, it does indeed say 'My lap', congratulations on your ability to read, I'm sure your parents are very proud.” 

The more academically-driven students were crestfallen, while some of their peers chuckled nervously, enjoying the lack of effort needed but nonetheless uneasy at the woman's tone. 

“And what do we know about the connection between the human lap and the _felis domesticus_?”

There was some muttering as to whether they should answer, but eventually hands went up, and a student found herself called upon to speak. “Cats like to sit in them? In our laps?” 

The professor nodded once, slowly, with exaggerated gentility. “Very astute. Your future overlords will be glad to see how well you know your place.” She turned her attention to the rest of the class, her voice lowering a little, suggesting worryingly that her interest in the lesson was waning. “And what of this smugly beaming arse of a face right here?” 

She indicated another poorly composited graphic, this one of a man's face, closely cropped, and placed over a word in the subtitle of the overall image, so that it appeared to read 'Is this [man's face]?' 

Awkward silence lingered, until another student offered himself up for tribute. “Is that perhaps the, um, from the Tim and Eri--”

“Aye, ye've guessed it, that'll be your Free Real Estate meme from the intro course.” She tucked the umbrella under her arm and unhurriedly made her way back to her desk. Once there, she sat down, propped up high-laced leather boots upon the table – which had previously been hidden under the many frills of her underskirt – and opened a stop-watch. 

“Now, pay attention, this is the most important part, and you'll not want to miss a word.” She waited until all eyes and ears were clearly on her (which did not take long), and then smiled like a cat. 

“1500 words, analysis and conclusion, on my desk, within the next ten minutes. Oh, and make it,” she fluttered her free hand, “cursive. With the first letter of each paragraph illuminated, yeah?” 

When the murmurings of confusion began to rise up, her berry-stained lips twisted into a coy smile and she raised her eyebrows in predatory sympathy:

“Nine minutes, fifty seconds...”


End file.
